


We Just Now Got The Feeling (that we're meeting for the first time)

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Banter, Buck is especially a dork, Cheesy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dorks in Love, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Feels, First Dates, Light Angst, Lots of wine, M/M, Songfic, Teasing, Wine, and we love it, but then Buck pulls the dorkiness out, feelings talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25565227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: We're gonna start by drinking old cheap bottles of wineSit talking up all nightSaying things we haven't for a while, a while yeahWe're smiling but we're close to tearsEven after all these yearsWe just now got the feeling that we're meetingFor the first time
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 171





	We Just Now Got The Feeling (that we're meeting for the first time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebeccaofsbfarm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccaofsbfarm/gifts).



> Fun fact: this fic is also the story of how I learned that the lyric is "sit talking up all night," not "shit-talking up all night." 
> 
> That said, I like my version better and stand by it.

Eddie fumbles with his keys, almost drops the entire lanyard trying to get the front door open. The Uber driver has just pulled away, and the higher-than-usual number of beers he’s put away tonight is catching up to him. 

It doesn’t help that Buck is running his fingertips up and down Eddie’s back, scratching lightly through his shirt. He’s been touching Eddie since they left the bar, a hand on his knee, stroking his forearm, tracing gently along his hairline. 

Buck is just as drunk as Eddie is, so he doesn’t think anything of it, other than how nice it feels to let Buck touch him freely like this, not have to worry about his intentions or sending the wrong message. 

They’re coming back from the bar, like they have countless times before, but never like this. Sure, they’ve been buzzed before, not quite holding each other up but still leaning together on their walk up the driveway. But it’s never been at the end of a date, never been such an obvious connection running between them. 

He rattles the key in the lock, remembering that it needs to turn left, but having a hard time remembering which direction that is, between the alcohol and the way Buck’s hands have suddenly pulled away. His back feels too cold now, immediately missing the 10 little spots where Buck’s fingers had been distracting him. 

But then Buck’s arm is coming around into his periphery, nudging his hand away from the keys and turning the knob. The door falls open, and Eddie’s so relieved that he almost falls too, right into his foyer. Buck is holding onto him again, though, a hand wrapped around his bicep, and falling through the door would mean sacrificing that touch. 

And why would he do that, when he can reach up to cover Buck’s hand with his own, lead him through the living room and push him down gently to drop onto the couch? 

Buck bounces when he hits the cushion, and again when Eddie flops down next to him. He lands a little too close, knocks his arm against Buck’s and has to slide over from where he lands half-sitting on Buck’s thigh. 

They’re both laughing, half a shade too loud for the situation, but both still too tipsy to notice or care. It shouldn’t be as funny as it is – they sit close enough to touch all the time – but the giggles take over, filling the otherwise empty house with their sounds of drunken amusement. 

The moment ends, the laughter peters out, and neither of them know what to do next. Or Eddie doesn’t, at least, and he can only assume that the feeling is mutual, because Buck is sitting there with his hand on Eddie’s knee again but unmoving otherwise. 

Finally, silence gets the better of Eddie and he heaves himself off the sofa, stretching his arms when he stands again. 

“You want another drink, man? Probably should just stay over; you’ve already had too many to drive.” 

Buck blinks up at him for a second, processing the words before he smirks. 

“Trying to get me into bed on the first date?” 

“No, I’m not … I … we don’t …" Christ, he’s too drunk to put the words together now, not without putting his foot in it and offending Buck. “It’s not that I don’t want … we’ve been ...” 

“Dude, chill.” Buck starts laughing again, even harder than before, and Eddie feels his face go hot with the realization that Buck is laughing _at him_ this time. “I’m just messing with you. No expectations tonight, that’s what we said, right? Another beer sounds great, we’ll see where things go?” 

Eddie nods, and turns away before Buck can see the way he starts wringing his hands. 

No expectations. Right. That’s what they’d agreed on. Just a first date, dinner and drinks like they’ve done a hundred times before, see where the night takes them. 

He opens the refrigerator and reaches into the cardboard beer case that lives on the bottom shelf. His knuckles bump against the cardboard at the back and he swipes blindly across the space. 

Empty. 

There’s no beer. Buck is sitting on his couch, waiting for him to come back with a beer, and there’s no beer. 

How could he have let this happen? What kind of idiot doesn’t make sure he’s stocked up on beer before he invites his friend over? 

Eddie, apparently. 

But Frank would tell him that this isn’t constructive thinking, that he should focus on building himself a solution, not tearing himself down for something he can’t go back and undo. 

He could get more beer, maybe, except that his limbs still feel heavy, in the alcohol-sodden way that tells him he shouldn’t be driving. And Buck is in the same boat, he knows. 

So a beer run is off the table, and he still needs another solution. 

He looks around the kitchen, knowing that he doesn't have anything stronger stashed away right now, but hoping something might appear anyway. It doesn't, but he does see a couple of glass bottles up on top of the fridge, so he reaches for those, and then the wine glasses in the cabinet. 

They had beer earlier, they can drink wine now. That’s a solution. Eddie sighs, his shoulders drooping under the relief that he hasn’t ruined the entire evening by running out of beer, and carries his findings back into the living room. 

“No beer,” he says, hoping it comes off casually enough that Buck can’t tell he was on the edge of a spiral not two minutes ago. “But I’ve got these.” 

He watches Buck lean forward and squint, like that will help him see in the half-dark room, then clicks on a lamp and sets one bottle down. 

“Start with the Malbec?” Eddie holds the remaining bottle up a little higher. “It’s the cheap stuff, but goes well with a steak. If we, y’know, had steaks.” 

Suddenly, he’s a little embarrassed again, at the way the bottle’s already unsealed and missing half a glass – from when he’d grilled steaks the other night – and that it’s the cheapest bottle of Malbec he’d been able to find at the liquor store. Eddie has nothing against inexpensive wine, but he usually tries to do a little better when he’s on a date. 

“Sure, I’ll just imagine a steak.” Buck laughs again, but this time Eddie can tell that there’s no malice in it. 

He pours them each a glass, just shy of half-full, the way his uncle had taught him on his 21st birthday, and hands one to Buck. 

“Cheaping out on me, Eds?” Buck swirls the glass around, watching the wine slosh up the sides. “That’s it?” 

“Fine, if you don’t want to be civilized about it.” He reaches across and pours Buck’s glass fuller, then tops his own off too. 

When he leans back, meaning to sit beside Buck, he finds himself sitting _against_ Buck, their arms overlapping, thighs pressed together. 

Again, nothing new, but it feels different tonight. More … charged, Eddie thinks, as he takes a sip from his wine. 

He’s not sure what to say now, how to break the silence that’s fallen over them. Thankfully, Buck is talkative when he drinks. 

(The rest of the time too, unless something is wrong, but after a couple of beers, Eddie would be hard-pressed to keep him from chattering.) 

He shifts against Eddie, pulls his arm free and drapes it over his shoulders like it doesn’t mean a thing. When his fingers curl around Eddie’s shoulder, he squeezes gently and smiles around the edge of his wine glass. 

“Hey, I ever tell you about the first time I drank wine?” 

“No?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow and looks at him, waiting for the rest of the story. 

“I was all of … 15, 16 maybe. Maddie had just moved in with Doug, talked me into helping carry some of her boxes. Soon as we finished stacking everything in, he took off for the bar with some of his friends. I never liked him, so I was fine with it, other than how upset Maddie looked. She pulled out a bottle, didn’t even ask if I wanted any. Just poured two glasses and said she wouldn’t tell if I didn’t. 

“It’s … god, that makes it sound sadder than it was, I swear.” Buck laughs and turns his face against Eddie’s shoulder for a second. “We had a great time. Went through … two bottles, I think? Three? She was legal, but I’d never drank _anything_ before, so was I wasted. After a while, we broke out a deck of cards, started making up the rules as we went along. Living with our parents was rough, but man, that was the hardest I think I’d ever laughed before, trying to stick a card to my forehead without using any tape. Next morning bit it though, nursing my first hangover and trying not to let our parents see. After that, I kept to a glass or two when she’d have me over to hang out.” 

He trails off, reaching the end of the chapter, even though Eddie knows the story could go on for years. But he also knows that not every part is so happy for Buck to remember, so he interjects before Buck feels compelled to keep going. 

“Sophomore year, with Shannon. Under the bleachers at a basketball game. She’d snuck a couple plastic water bottles in her backpack, smuggled off of her parents’ bar. You ever walk past the assistant principal, just _sure_ he can smell the booze on your breath even though you haven’t said a word to him? Thought we were the most rebellious kids in the world.” 

They’re laughing again, now, trading stories about different times they let alcohol get away from them. Most of Buck’s are from his summers in South America, where the bar he worked at didn’t ask a lot of questions if the bottles were a little too empty at the end of the night. He'd always wake up alone, though, “save the sexcapades for the nights I’d actually remember, y’know?” 

Eddie tells him about his last night of basic training, how one of his dormmates had smuggled in a couple of cases, they’d all sat around on flimsy twin mattresses, talking about the hell they’d been through and what they thought deployment would be like. 

“Man, were we ever wrong,” He chuckles, looking down at where his hand has come up to rest on Buck’s middle, swiping gentle lines up and down his torso, fingers twitching where he can feel the ridges of his abs just beneath the surface. “Hotter than we’d ever imagined, and way the hell less heroic than it looked in the movies. Mostly, just sitting around waiting for someone to tell us the next way we might die.” 

“Damn.” Buck’s hand has moved to cradle the back of Eddie’s neck, lightly massaging the muscles there. “They make some good military movies, but at least you didn’t get shot at quite so often?” 

“True,” Eddie laughs and leans into the touch, draining the last of his glass. “Refill?” 

They polish off the last of the Malbec, sharing not-quite-full glasses and settling back in. This time, Eddie’s hand lands halfway up Buck’s thigh, fingers curled loosely against the inseam of his jeans. It’s far enough up his leg that he could be making a suggestion, trying to move things along. 

He’s not, though. He and Buck are sitting here, feeling each other, exploring bodies and trading stories, and that’s everything he could want out of the night. 

They’re talking about Christopher now, how bright and lively and smart he is. Last week, he’d placed third in the spelling bee, and there’s still just enough alcohol buzzing through Eddie’s veins for him to tell the story twice in a row, even though Buck was sitting right next to him when it had happened. 

“But who needs spelling, anyway?” He runs his hand back and forth across Buck’s leg. “Especially a word like ‘catastrophe.’ If he can list off the ones he’s been through, that should be good enough.” 

“Right? He’s still a whiz kid.” The glasses are empty again, and Buck leans forward to screw the top off of the bottle of Riesling, pours them both full. 

He sits back, leaning his weight against Eddie’s side. It’s warm, just this side of uncomfortable, between the alcohol spreading through his veins like the glow of a fireplace, and the heat Buck is giving off everywhere their bodies touch. 

Eddie doesn't move, though, can’t bring himself to resent the sweat he can feel poking at the surface of his skin. Not if it means Buck will tuck himself against him like this, slot their bodies together like a perfect fit. 

Instead, he takes a long sip to fuel the fire, give himself the courage to ask the question that’s been idling at the edge of his mind for a couple of days now. 

“How’d we get here, Buck?” 

“Uber, remember? Your truck’s in the driveway, but we drank at dinner too.” Buck laughs when Eddie reaches over to shove his side. But he doesn't sit up, and Eddie doesn’t move his hand, just leaves it to rest over Buck’s ribcage, right underneath the edges of his heartbeat. 

“No, not that. I knew that. We haven’t had that much wine. Like … here. Tonight. You hated me on my first day.” 

“You were an arrogant ass on your first day. ‘Top recruit’ this and 'don’t call me Diaz’ that.” But he’s smiling, teasing at the introduction Bobby had made when Eddie walked in his first morning at the 118. “Just took me a while to realize that I think it’s cute.” 

“Sure, real cute disarming a live hand grenade with someone you hardly know. Just had to prove your top-dog status, jump in there with me, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe I was just trying to get you alone, tell you how stupid hot you looked in that bulletproof vest.” 

“With the grenade guy right there?” 

“You know I love a good half-baked plan. But no, I was showing off. Seriously, weren't you scared in there?” 

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, shifts his hand so that he can feel Buck’s heart thumping. 

“Really?” Buck stares at him, analyzing his face. 

“No.” He starts laughing, and Buck laughs too, knocking his head against Eddie’s shoulder. “Seriously though, when did you know?” 

“OK, you remember the racist dude? Wouldn’t let anyone treat him, even when he started literally spewing shit?” 

“Yeah?” Eddie remembers the call, remembers how the stranger’s rejection had stung a little bit, even as he’d played it off, how he’d still been ready to jump in and save the guy, because that’s the job, even if they don’t like the look of the name on your badge. 

But he doesn't know what Buck would have found attractive about that, over any of the calls where he’d gotten to actually _do something._

“You told him that you were half-Swedish, but didn’t know which side you’d be able to treat him with.” He doesn’t remember saying it, but it sounds like the sort of half-sarcastic rebuff that would fall out of his mouth. “I mean, he’s here saying that he’d rather _die_ than let you touch him, and you cracked a joke about it.” 

Buck slides his hand up Eddie’s chest, rubs lightly at his shoulder until he’s brushing his fingers across the side of his face as he finishes talking. 

“That’s when I could tell that you were going to turn out to be more than just a new friend with a pretty face.” 

Eddie smiles at him, turning his head to press a kiss against Buck’s palm. He doesn’t have the words for a response, doesn’t know how to say what it means to him that, of all the moments they’ve shared, he saw something special in that one, when someone they didn’t even know was writing him off entirely. 

Buck’s eyelashes flutter, and Eddie can tell that he’s torn between closing his eyes against the tenderness of the moment, and wanting to watch whatever happens next. 

He’s feeling about the same way himself, if he’s being honest, wanting to stop time in this feeling almost as much as he’s dying to know where they’ll go next. 

Buck traces his thumb over Eddie’s eyebrow, gently breaking him out of the trance. 

“What about you?” He murmurs, shifting a little closer. “When did you know?” 

_When did he know?_

Eddie doesn’t have the answer, can’t pinpoint the moment when he started developing feelings for Buck. It was a gradual thing, he thinks, that started as a friendship but grew as he always wanted just a little bit more than they had, just a little bit more of Buck. 

But he knows when he realized it, when he knew that however much he had, it would never be enough, until he had a little piece of all of him. 

It started, he’s pretty sure, right after the earthquake. Buck still hardly knew him, but didn’t miss a beat when he offered a ride to pick Chris up at school. He’d spent all afternoon trying to quell Eddie’s concern, peppering him with earthquake safety facts and reassurances that his kid would be fine. 

This abstract concept of a kid Buck hardly knew about, had never met, and he spent all day telling Eddie how strong he was, how capable. And he didn’t even know the half of it. 

He didn’t realize it then, though. That night, all he knew was how grateful he was that Christopher didn’t have a scratch, and how much he owed Buck for helping get him home safe. 

And that he wanted to get to know him a little better. 

The night it dawned on him, the tables were turned. The entire 118 was gathered in the emergency room, waiting on news about Chimney’s recovery. Buck had sat away from the group, wringing his fingers between his knees. When Eddie slid over to sit beside him, Buck had bristled, stiffened like he was daring Eddie to say something about his sister. 

He’d spent that evening reminding Buck that Maddie was a fighter, that she’s survived everything the world has ever thrown at her. Deep down, he’d hoped he was right, as much as he wasn’t sure, had no idea what the rest of the night would bring. 

But even deeper down, after Buck had run off with Athena, after Pepa had shown up with Christopher, hoping to lighten things up for everyone, there had been one thought burning its way through Eddie’s mind. 

“When did I know?” He whispers it into the space between them, runs his fingers along Buck’s arm idly. “I knew when you realized that Maddie was missing. That … that Doug had taken her. You were so worried, like the world was going to stop turning if something happened to her. We all were; even though I barely knew her, I could tell how much she mattered to you. And if someone matters that much to you, they must be pretty damn special. And even through all of that, the only thing I could focus on was how much I wanted someone to worry about me that much. Someone to risk … everything, more than just their life, to come after me. I wanted _you_ to worry about me that much.” 

Buck chuckles, and even though Eddie can’t see his face, he’s pretty sure that the sound is thick with unshed tears. 

“Dude, if you ever make me worry about you that much, I’ll have to kill you myself.” It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh now, at the way Buck sounds completely serious about the threat. “I’d do it, though. Worry about you, I mean. If I needed to.” 

All of a sudden, the moment is too heavy, too raw and emotional for either of them. Buck sits forward, reaches for the wine bottle and offers Eddie another glass. 

“Sure, but we’re out after this bottle.” 

“That’s fine, I’ve already had more than I usually drink in a week. Riesling, though? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a flowery wine guy.” 

“Flowery? And I’m pretty sure Maddie left it here last time everyone was over.” 

“Flowery notes. I … took a sommelier class once, with Mads. Love drinking her wine, too. She knows all the best flavors.” Buck drains the last of the bottle between their glasses, holds it up to catch the last drips on his tongue. 

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that’s the official wine tasting method?” Eddie thinks he’s kept the strain out of his voice, but his stomach clenches as he watches Buck’s Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallows. 

“Nah, it’s called ‘getting your money’s worth, down to the last drop.’” If Buck noticed anything unusual, he doesn't comment as he leans back. 

His hands aren’t roaming Eddie’s body this time, but by the time he’s settled in, Buck is stretched out across the open end of the sofa. His calves are dangling off the end, knees draped over the arm. 

But most notable, at least from Eddie’s perspective is Buck’s head, pressing into the top of his thigh. It’s up high, almost to his hip, and if Buck rolled over, his nose would brush the sliver of Eddie’s stomach that he’s suddenly very conscious of. He’s curled mostly onto his side, facing toward the open room, with his hand wrapped around Eddie’s thigh in almost a perfect replica of where Eddie’s hand had rested on Buck’s leg earlier in the night. 

Eddie drops his arm down from the back of the sofa, lets his hand land on the center of Buck’s stomach. He can feel the tiny divot of a navel through the fabric, his fingers just barely brushing the bare skin where his shirt had ridden up as he squirmed around getting comfortable. 

It’s an awkward angle, but Buck takes a sip from his glass, pouring a tiny bit of liquid into his mouth. Eddie brace himself for it to spill on his jeans, but he manages to run the liquid right up to the brim without running it over. 

They’re both still drinking, but more slowly now, savoring the last glass of the evening. When Buck speaks again, Eddie can tell that the alcohol is working its way out of his system. His speech is more steady, the words more clearly enunciated. 

“You know what’s crazy? I mean, it might be the wine, but you know what’s _crazy?”_

It's not the wine, Eddie knows, but he can hear the tinge of hesitation in Buck’s voice, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever it is that’s on his mind. 

But Eddie always wants to know what Buck is thinking about, so much that it scares him sometimes. So he indulges it, lets Buck believe that he’s got enough alcohol left in his body to say whatever it is that he thinks he needs to be drunk to say. 

“What? What’s crazy?” He curls and opens his fingers a few times, relishing in the way he can hear Buck’s breath hitch and feel his muscles twitch against the gentle strokes. 

“I’ve known you for, what? Three years now? Two and a half? I dunno, I can’t do math.” He chuckles and shifts his head, rubbing his hair against Eddie’s jeans. “Anyway, a while, right?” 

“Right,” Eddie nods, trying to figure out where Buck is gong with this. They’ve spent close to two hours tonight talking about the memories they’ve shared together; why does Buck think he needs to quantify their relationship with months and years? But Buck is waiting for the rest of his answer, and he knows he’ll never find out if he doesn’t play along. “It’s been a while.” 

“And we’ve been through a lot together. Like … a _lot._ More than I’ve been through with anyone else, except maybe Maddie. I know you _so well,_ but – and this is the crazy part – tonight? All of this? It feels like I’m meeting you for the first time. 

“Again.” He finishes, setting his glass down even though it’s not empty yet. He rolls to his back, staring up at Eddie’s chin and letting his hand press over Eddie’s on his stomach. 

“Yeah? How so?” Eddie’s response is quiet, the same voice he uses to coax more words out of Christopher when he won’t say what’s bothering him. He doesn’t have anything to contribute here, but he wants nothing more than to hear the rest of what Buck has to say. 

“Just … sitting here, talking.” Buck’s voice is softer now, like he’s worried about Eddie judging him. To assuage some of the hesitation, Eddie turns his hand over and twists their fingers together. “Even if I’ve heard the stories before, it feels … different, now.” 

He shifts around again, squirming enough that Eddie can tell he’s more uneasy about the conversation than his position halfway in Eddie’s lap. 

Eddie hums, not quite an agreement, but an invitation for Buck to keep talking. He likes Buck’s voice like this, quiet and raspy and clearly nervous because he’s putting everything on the line with such heartfelt honesty. 

“I … I like it.” Buck sighs and squeezes Eddie’s fingers, pulling their hands up to his chest and craning his head forward far enough to kiss his knuckles. 

“Well I like _you.”_ Eddie smiles down at him, abandoning his own glass to the end table in favor of running his fingers along Buck’s hairline. 

It’s cheesy, sure, but he means it, maybe more than he’s ever meant anything else he’s ever said to Buck. 

“I like you too.” Eddie feels the strain as he leans down, contorts his back to an awkward angle so he can reach Buck’s forehead for a kiss. It’s worth it, though, for the way he can feel Buck’s breath at the ends of his hair, the barely-there breeze on his ear. “And I like this. We’ve got a good thing going here, I can feel it.” 

At that, Buck sits up a little bit, just enough to smile at Eddie and lean against the middle of his torso. He’s still grinning, but it shifts a little bit. Eddie knows this expression, and it’s not simple joy. 

Buck is planning something, something silly, and Eddie knows he’s going to fall in love with whatever it is as soon as it happens. 

“Me too,” Buck wrinkles his nose, but it’s in amusement, not disgust. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he flushes red and turns to bury his face in Eddie’s chest. 

It’s the most natural thing in the world for Eddie to bring one of his hands up to caress the back of his head, scratch gently at Buck’s scalp. He hopes the gesture conveys everything he’s thinking, how it feels like he’s known Buck forever, but also like he’s getting to know a whole new side of him tonight. 

If the hand in his hair isn’t clear enough, Eddie knows his words will be, when he leans down again – more comfortably this time – to kiss the spot right above Buck’s ear and whisper to him. 

“Nice to meet you too, Buck.” 

**Author's Note:**

> There, Becca. The wine fic. Or, your wHine fic.
> 
> Everyone else, I'd love to know what y'all think, especially since you haven't _harassed_ me about this for two full weeks.
> 
> xoxo


End file.
